


Poison

by chaosmanor



Series: On the Inevitability of Falling [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, F/M, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-01
Updated: 2007-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosmanor/pseuds/chaosmanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.

It was just another LA mansion, quietly pretentious in a minimalist way, full of industry people; studio execs, investors, corporate types, with a smattering of people like them, there to make the place look glamorous. At least it wasn’t a costume party this time.

Kate was delicate and pretty on his arm, giggling and smiling, looking gorgeous in dark green, and he grinned back at her when she glanced up at him.

 

They hugged and kissed their way through the crowd, the noise of gossip and success reverberating off travertine floors. It was a private function, no press there, and the smell of joints wafted over the deck. Orlano snared a glass of Chablis and another of water off a waiter’s tray, and Kate squeezed his arm as she took hers. “Just going to freshen up,” she said.

He nodded, his smile fading a little. They both had their problems.

Kate disappeared off into the house, and Orlando sipped his wine and tried to work out who was there. Aileene waved and pushed her way through to join him, kissing both of his cheeks and smiling widely. “Hello, darling,” she said. “Where’s Katie? Couldn’t she make it?”

“She’s here,” Orlando said, and the skin around Aileene’s mouth creased a little too much. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Aileene said, maintaining her smile, but dropping her voice so that Orlando had to lean forward to catch her words. “He’s here. He must have been added to the guest list after I’d seen it.”

“Oh, fuck,” Orlando said.

“Do you want to go?” Aileene asked. “I’ll make excuses for you.”

Orlando nodded, and looked hopefully back into the house. If he was lucky, Kate wouldn’t be too much of a mess.

Aileene said, “I’ll go get her,” and began to shoulder her way through the crowd.

Orlando went to follow her, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. Damn, it was one of the Disney suits, the VP in charge of making obscene amounts of money or something, and he found himself shaking a string of pudgy hands belonging to simpering middle-aged women and their wealthy husbands instead.

There was no escape from this, this was where his money came from, so he smiled and kissed cheeks, and fucking acted.

Aileene didn’t reappear to rescue him, and he found himself pinned against the railing of the deck, cornered by a barrel-chested man, and his equally barrel-chested wife, making small talk while his world threatened to crumble.

Someone replaced his empty glass with a full one, thankfully, then the wife’s eyes went wide as an arm slid around Orlando’s shoulder, and a rough voice drawled, “Orlando.”

By all rights, Orlando should have felt something. Fear perhaps? He’d been avoiding this moment for three years, scared of how he might react, but now the moment was there, about all the emotional response he could muster was relief.

“Viggo,” he said, and they hugged briefly, Orlando painfully aware of the interested onlookers.

Viggo’s eyes were warm, affectionate even, but out of sight, his hand had slid down Orlando’s side and circled his wrist, fingers like steel, pinning Orlando down, stopping him from bolting. That was the Viggo he remembered.

Aileen re-appeared, grabbed Orlando’s other arm without excusing herself to the investment types she pushed aside, and Orlando thought she had turned up to rescue him from Viggo, only her nails dug into his bare arm, and she looked genuinely panicked.

“Quick,” she demanded.

He followed, and it took him a moment to realise that Viggo had let go of his wrist without any protest.

 

Kate was on a bathroom floor when the waiter that had been standing guard in the hallway let them past. The owner of the house, who Orlando suspected was actually God at Miramax, was on his knees beside Kate, clearing her mouth out with his fingers.

“Oh fuck,” Orlando said, crouching down beside the man and feeling for the trembling pulse in Kate’s sinewy neck.

“I’ve called 911,” the man said. “They’re on their way.”

“What does she use?” Viggo asked, bending forward too and peering at Kate’s eyes. It wasn’t until he spoke that Orlando realised he’d followed Aileene and himself through the house to the bathroom.

“She doesn’t,” Orlando said. “No drugs.” Kate’s ribs showed sharp against deep ridges, where her dress slid sideways.

"Fuck," Viggo said under his breath.

 

* * *

Whatever Orlando had expected to find in the Cedar's Sinai private waiting room; coffee machine, magazines, maybe a TV, just a moment’s break from the hospital room would do, he'd not expected to find a rumpled ex-lover asleep on one of the couches.

Viggo was sprawled across the aseptic couch, legs hitched over the arm rest, head propped on one arm, neck twisted in a way that must be uncomfortable. He let out a quiet snore.

There was a coffee machine, as well as an ex-lover, so Orlando made himself a cup then sat blearily across from Viggo on another couch and tried to get his tired brain to think.

He had no idea why Viggo was there, it was a waiting room so presumably he was waiting for Orlando. They'd ended so acrimoniously, conflict and unmet expectations escalating to one last bitter row, then Orlando had finally left. It just wasn't possible that Viggo could be there…

"Let me take that," someone said, and Orlando's eyes jerked open as the polystyrene cup slid from his fingers.

"You OK?" Viggo asked, and he put down the coffee Orlando had been about to drop on the carpet, and sat on the couch beside Orlando. "How's Kate doing?"

"Kate's a mess," Orlando said, rubbing at his face. "She's..." He frowned, trying to remember the words. "Electrolyte imbalance, that's it. They're giving her potassium and fluids, and have put a feeding tube in. Think as soon as her mum gets here, they're going to try and move her to some private clinic, make her have therapy and eat and stuff."

Viggo nodded and slid his arm around Orlando's shoulders, and Orlando couldn't stop himself from resting his head against Viggo's solidity.

"Why?" Viggo asked, and he must have turned his head because his coffee-breath whispered against Orlando's hair.

There was so many things Viggo could be asking 'Why?' of, and it was typical of him to leave Orlando to choose the one he answered.

Why were he and Kate together?

"Mutually compatible inadequacies," Orlando said, surprised he was being that honest with Viggo. "You must think I'm a bastard to let her get into this mess."

"I’ve known you were a bastard for a while now," Viggo said. "And if someone is determined to destroy themselves, you can't actually do anything about it."

His fingers were rubbing tiny circles through Orlando's T-shirt, uncompromisingly gentle, so unlike what Orlando had been used to from Viggo.

He still didn't know why Viggo was there, what he had done to deserve such kindness.

“I’m sorry we ended so badly,” Orlando said, presumably startling Viggo as much as he startled himself. He was so tired, and so stressed out, that the self-censorship part of his brain had obviously failed. Looked like they were in for a patch of truth, at least until the nurse called him back into Kate’s room.

“Me too,” Viggo said, and he sounded amused, but Orlando couldn’t summon the energy to lift his head and check, not when Viggo’s fingers had moved to his neck, tracing spirals beside his vertebrae.

Orlando didn’t think he was actually asleep, but his eyes were closed when Viggo said, “Orlando, I think the nurse is looking for you.”

“I am,” the nurse said, smiling at Orlando and sitting down on the coffee table. “Katie’s asleep, the sedatives are working. I think you should go home, get some sleep too.”

“Can I see her once more?” Orlando said, disentangling himself from Viggo’s arms and standing up unsteadily.

“Of course,” the nurse said.

 

For the fourth time that night (or was it morning already?) Viggo was where Orlando didn’t expect him to be, standing beside the lifts on the private floor, waiting for Orlando. “Let me take you home,” he said.

“You don’t know where I live,” Orlando pointed out, and he had to hold on to the wall to stop from stumbling.

An arm slid around his waist, holding him steady. “Well,” Viggo drawled. “You could either tell me, or I could drive you somewhere else that I do know. I suppose I could drive you somewhere random that neither of us knows the location of, but that’s not really viable.”

The lift arrived, and Orlando said, “Stop teasing. I’m too tired.”

 

The phone woke Orlando some time after eleven, meaning that he’d managed to get a couple of hours sleep, and the chat he had with Kate’s mum was less than pleasant, but at least Kate was awake and well enough to be arguing in the background.

Talking to Kate was better, her voice was rougher than usual, that was all. And at least she wasn’t denying that she was in a mess, and that she needed to go somewhere for a while, and Orlando was still awash with relief when he walked out into the living area, tying the belt on his robe.

“Jesus,” he said quietly. He'd had no idea that Viggo had stayed, but there he was, crashed out on the rug in front of the couch, couch cushion under his head, fake fur rug draped over him. It was a hell of a jump to go from not seeing Viggo for so long, to finding him asleep on the floor.

He made himself a mug of tea as quietly as he could and took it back to bed.

So much didn’t make sense; from why Viggo was acting like he gave a damn, right through to how come Orlando hadn’t even felt like waking Viggo up and kicking him out?

 

He’d not reached any conclusions when the loo flushed, then Viggo pushed his bedroom door open.

“You OK?” Viggo asked, and he looked like he’d spent the night sleeping on the floor, or in a forest. Some things didn’t change.

Orlando shrugged. “Katie’s doing well, she’s going to go back East with her mum, to some clinic, for a while.”

Viggo nodded and said, “Good. That’s really good. Um, I’d better go. I’ll let myself out. Take care, OK?”

 

When the front door had thudded shut behind Viggo, Orlando let out a shuddering breath and sunk back on his bed, eyes closed.

The last thing Viggo had said to him, shouted at him, three years ago, had been, “Choose your own fucking clothes, make your own fucking decisions!”

It had been the last straw, after months of bickering and time apart, and it had hurt unbearably at the time, so much that even after all the time that had passed, Orlando winced. Viggo had slammed his studio door, an almost daily occurrence, and Mahler had boomed from Viggo’s studio, through the locked door. That time, however, Orlando had repacked his suitcases from his most recent trip, while a bewildered Henry stood helplessly in the hallway.

Chris had turned up and taken Henry away after Orlando had phoned her, then Orlando had left too, just got in his car and driven away.

He wasn’t quite sure how Viggo had made it from that to ‘Take care, OK?’ and he was even less sure how he felt about it.


End file.
